


sit, roll over, stay (for a while, please)

by corduroywords



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Parents, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Future Fic, HUSSSBANDSSSS HGNNNNNN, ITS WHAT THEY DESERVE !!!, M/M, Post-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, but like not that obvious, keith is in pain for a good chunk of this bcs they have a minivan, keith: its either me or the minivan shiro. pick., they just fluffed themselves ok its what theyre like, this entire fic is just an excuse to spoil kosmo im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 14:39:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17582765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corduroywords/pseuds/corduroywords
Summary: There was a war, there was bloodshed. Now, there's a war over groceries and just shedding, period."Did you pick up milk?" Shiro's voice booms from the car speakers—a sensible minivan, horrifying Keith right from the beginning, but they'd compromised with letting Keith spend an hour every week in the garage smudging it with grime to make it look cooler."No," Keith replied, swearing as he realized he'd missed a turn. "I uh, picked up gas station gatorade though."Compromise.





	sit, roll over, stay (for a while, please)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vivaldis_lover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivaldis_lover/gifts).



> ANNA WIFEY !! I CANNOT EXPRESS MY UTTER LOVE FOR YOU IN WORDS !! thank you, from the bottom of my heart for existing because you're a beautiful supportive sweetheart with an adorable cat. light of my life, sunshine on my darkest days, i hope you enjoy.

"Did you pick up milk?" Shiro's voice booms from the car speakers—a sensible minivan, horrifying Keith right from the beginning, but they'd compromised with letting Keith spend an hour every week in the garage smudging it with grime to make it look cooler.  

"No," Keith replied, swearing as he realized he'd missed a turn. "I uh, picked up gas station gatorade though." _Compromise._

 _"Keith,"_ he hears, exasperation leaking out of the speakers. "Not again—"

"I'm late," Keith replies, cutting him off. "Now if you hadn't signed our baby up for all these unnecessary lessons maybe we could have breakfast with milk tomorrow—but no. And I know you’re just going to take us to iHop for the third day in a row anyway, milk or not."

"They are perfectly necessary!" Shiro argues, ignoring the jab at his breakfast habits; he knows it’s true. "And you agreed to them."

"I agreed to the extra schooling and one— _one_ fitness extracurricular. Now I spend five hours a week driving him to and back from his lessons. I could have taught him all of this.”

“No, you couldn’t have,” Shiro replies, with no hesitation. “Keith, you tried teaching me your weird cross fitness moves last week and walked away in the middle of it because you can’t explain all your—weird understandings of it.”

Huffing, Keith ignores him as he swerves into the one remaining parking space in one fast, fluid movement, beating the middle-aged woman in a BMW with a lululemon headband and narrowed eyes beside him by mere seconds. He doesn’t bother being careful, because scratches are good for both his car and hers, and so is putting fear in her. She honks loudly, and Keith looks down passively, scratching his nose with his middle finger as he unlocks his door.

Shiro would have told Keith to be mature about this, but Keith knew that Shiro had just as much of a grudge against her as Keith did. Lulu lady pulls her baby away from theirs at pick-up and playtime, narrowing her judgemental eyes. The heartbreak Keith feels when their baby looks up at him and Shiro, confused, whenever this occurs justifies any pettiness, Keith’s decided.

So maybe it was an accident that Keith bumped into her car last week and leaves a little oopsie. Maybe it was an accident that Shiro lost her invitation to their baby’s first birthday. Mistakes happen.

“I have to go now. Baby’s waiting,” Keith says to Shiro, voice noticeably smug.

“You can’t just keep—”

“Sorry, what was that? I think we’re breaking up—’ Keith begins to make sound effects he thinks are pretty damn convincing: muffled screaming and siren noises. “Oh god, Shiro is this the end? Save yourself, love you—”

“Jesus Christ, Keith stop—”

Keith makes more sounds from the back of his throat. It might have been mimicked static, but it sounded apocalyptic in any case. _“Shiro, remember our promise! Save yourself!”_ he whisper-yells dramatically, and disconnects the bluetooth.

Parents flood the doors of the pickup center. He’s just barely pushed through the throng of them when a weight tackles him to the ground enthusiastically. “Kosmo!” he laughs, nuzzling into his fur. The stares of the other parents don’t deter him from throwing him into the air and catching him. “How was puppy school? Let’s hope you obtained super cool knowledge today! If you stick to your education and work hard on your studies you’ll be going great places. Daddy is _so so proud...”_

The best most fierce intellectual in question looks down at him from where he’s held in the air, tongue lolling. Slobber drips down onto Keith’s shirt but that’s something he can ignore, easy. Mostly because he can embrace Shiro wearing it later too and watch the horror dawn onto his face when he realizes Keith’s covered in slobber and staining his work suit. Wins all around.

There’s a sharp inhale above him, and Keith knows without looking that it’s Lulu lady, bound to make a sharp remark. He gathers Kosmo in his arms before she can and turns on his heel, as if to say, _don’t talk to me or my son ever again._

 

* * *

  
When he arrives home, Shiro is already on the porch. It makes Keith’s heart stutter, just a little, no matter how many times he’s come home to this.

Shiro serves an intimidating figure, all pursed lips and crisp ironed dress shirt stretched across his chest. Though the image is tampered by the cat slippers Keith had gotten Shiro for his birthday—a joke at first, but Shiro had refused to throw them out.

Keith pulls up in the minivan, resisting the urge to hide his face when he emerges; no one should suffer like this. If it weren’t for Kosmo and his safety, Keith would have bought a basket for his motorcycle ages ago. But baskets don’t have car seats and seat belts, so he’ll learn to live with his shame. 

Shiro had terrible taste in everything--especially transportation, and Keith had told him as such, once. "Well I married you, so I wouldn't say I had the worst," he'd replied without missing a beat, and though Shiro had seen him naked and intimate, it was remarkable the amount of colour went to Keith's cheeks.

Kosmo waits patiently while Keith unlocks his door. He’s about to unclip his seatbelt for the car seat but Kosmo wiggles out on his own and Keith gives him a high five.

Lance is always going on about how ridiculously smart Kosmo is for his age and— _species_ (not that it matters to Keith; babies are babies are kin are kin). Shiro just tells him that he gets it from his dad, at which time Lance usually exits the conversation.

Footsteps sound from behind him, signifying that Shiro is coming to meet them. The same thing happens every time, and Keith watches in real time as it unfolds, like some kind of family special: first, he tosses Kosmo in the air and presses a kiss to his forehead when he catches him; second, he twirls Keith around in some cheesy move and grabs him by the hip while he presses a firm kiss to his forehead—”two forehead kisses to the only men of my life,” Shiro would always laugh—then to the lips and both corners.

“I’m still pissed about your lame excuses when you don’t want to talk about milk responsibilities,” Shiro said, trying to play at annoyed, but it’s between the kisses and Keith can feel the smile in it on the left corner of his mouth.

It’s beautiful and domestic and so fucking lovely that it feels a little like a dream and a lot like being wholly, completely in love.

* * *

 

Late at night, when Kosmo had already been fed, walked in his little sherpa booties, drank out of his custom glass-blown bowl and tucked in by both his parents and sung (badly, because Shiro thought that Johnny Cash and Lana Del Ray make superb lullabies) to sleep, Shiro hands Keith a glass of wine.

They curl in together on the loveseat, not quite touching, but facing each other with their legs crossed and hiding whispers in between sips. It’s fine, though—the touching will come later, when they’re loosened up by the alcohol and the strain on their shoulders is less obvious.

“Never thought we’d be the type to settle down,” Shiro murmurs, trying to keep his voice low.

“And I never thought I’d be the type to marry someone who would buy a minivan without a gun to their head, but alas.” Keith smiles at Shiro over the rim of his glass.

“Come here,” says Shiro, and Keith does, turns so his back ends up on Shiro’s chest, his heartbeat and dress shirt buttons pressed against Keith’s shoulder blades.

“We need a date night,” Keith groans.

“God, yes. _Please.”_

A beat. Two. Soft breaths and pleased hums. “This wine is shit,” Keith says suddenly, interrupting the silence.

“You’re right,” Shiro laughs. “What are we playing at? Sensible husbands that drink fancy wine from decanters?”

“Get us some beer, coward.” Shiro’s already getting up, leaving a cold spot behind Keith. He’ll come back though. He always comes back.

“I know what’ll top the deal!” shouts Shiro from the kitchen. “I’ll make it piss warm!”

“You know me well _.”_

* * *

 

“I love you a lot,” Keith whispers in bed to Shiro’s turned back even later, later than it should be. It’ll be hell waking up tomorrow to send Kosmo to his morning classes. Moonlight floods their bedroom and lays down in silver shafts across their California king that takes up well over half their space.

It gets lonely like this, sometimes, just him awake late and the hum of the refrigerator. He would have much rather it been Shiro’s hum into the crook of his neck.

“I love you more,” Keith hears, the soft syllables muffled by the sheets. Shiro rolls over unceremoniously so he’s facing Keith. He hadn’t expected him to answer; he thought that Shiro was asleep, but he should have known Shiro would be there. Shiro had a knack for always being there when he needed him.

“I’m proud of us,” Keith says suddenly. And he is. They built this. Shiro’s mouth tugs at the corners and he loops an arm over Keith’s waist, pulling him closer.

“I’m proud of Kosmo,”

“I’m _prouder_ of Kosmo.”

Four beats. Five. “...I love you a lot.”

“I love you too. So much. More. I love this. I love what we have. I love _you_.”

“You already said that.”

“I guess. Get over yourself. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Shiro’s eyes glint in the moonlight. His teeth do too when he smiles, long and slow and soft. There’s butterflies everywhere for Keith. In his stomach. In his heart. They’re fluttering all over the fucking place.

Leaning close, Shiro kisses his eyelids gently, making them flutter shut. _Butterflies._ “Don’t think this’ll get you out of pick-up tomorrow,” he says, but Keith kisses him anyway.

“I’m burning the minivan.” he mutters hoarsely when they pull apart.

“Opportunist ass.”

“Opportunist husband,” he corrects, and Shiro pulls him in again.

**Author's Note:**

> hello lovelies !! hope you enjoyed this !! s8 hurt but they are in LOVE goddammit. 
> 
> if you liked comments and kudos are always appreciated <3 come scream about them w/me, a mess, on my [tumblr](https://beefy-keefy.tumblr.com/) or kinda new [twitter](https://twitter.com/beefykeefy) on which im recently starting to get active on !! feel free to chat babes!!


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